The Call
by Lady Merridell of Penndragon
Summary: Sometimes it is in desire, or in the love we fear. Then the call keeps calling us 'till the fear will disappear. If only he can learn to open his heart like he did his arms and answer to the call.
1. Chapter 1

**I told you I would. It's already here, if you can believe it. Enjoy and please do read Love Never Dies if you already haven't. I promise, it's not about the POTO sequel. Quite the opposite. **

**Lovest Always, Lady Merridell**

**Disclaimer: Me no own the Phantom of the Opera or the song "The Call" by Celtic Woman . Comprendo?**

**July 2, 1864**

Chapter 1

Sometimes It In the Sea

Erik had finally done it. It felt wonderful. For the first time, he felt free. He had abandoned that forsaken Opéra house with its proud aboveness and it's cold, unforgiving catacombs below. Somehow, he had the nagging feeling he would return to the Palais Garnier, but he ignored it. For now, he enjoyed his home by the seaside in Sweden.

A cool sea breeze stung his skin and ruffled his dark hair. Erik closed his eyes, tempted to remove his mask to fully enjoy it, but didn't for fear of being seen by an unsuspecting onlooker.

Suddenly there was a cry of panic. Had it not sounded so forlorn and somehow musical, he might have been cross. What creature could possibly dare to interrupt this monster's brief contentment?

He looked around to find the source of the noise. A mass of bobbing chestnut curls and pale flailing limbs caught his eye. The poor creature coughed and spluttered as she tried to beat against the current, but to no avail.

Erik knew very well that the ocean kept those it took. It seemed if no one came to the rescue she would most certainly fall victim to the salty blue waves. _Foolish girl, what was she thinking?_

Not knowing why he was doing it, Erik splashed into the ocean and quickly pushed against the current to the poor young child. There were a few occasions when he himself had fallen into the lake beneath the Opera Populaire and had to beat against the current. He reached her swiftly and wrapped an arm around her thin waist, pulling her along with ease.

As soon as his feet could touch the sandy floor, he stood and cradled her in his arms. She flung her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder, sobbing and thanking him. He froze at this, for no one had ever clung to him this way, but he shook it off. The dear child must be freezing.

"Hush, _ma enfante_," he murmured. He decided it was best to get her to his house. It wasn't far and the child was shivering with cold.

He glanced down at her. She had beautiful chestnut curls that had a slightly red tinge and large green eyes. Her dark, thick lashes were dark and sparkled from the tears. She looked about eleven although she was small enough for ten or nine.

Once he entered his cottage, he set her down and went about drying her. Still she cried, so he did the only thing he knew eased his sorrows. Sing.

As Erik rubbed her hair with a towel he sang a lullaby he had once heard a Persian woman sing to calm her weeping babe. Soon her hiccups subsided as she listened to his song, her eyes wide with wonder. As the song drew to a close she swayed a bit to the tune, then looked up at him, beaming.

"Can you teach me your song?" she asked. "It's very pretty."

Erik watched her a moment, a bit uneasy since most people would run or glare at him with hate. This child just smiled up at him expectantly, the tears from before causing her beautiful emerald eyes to be unusually bright. He slowly nodded.

"What's your name?"

"Erik," he replied, taken back. What could this mean? How could she be so trusting? Especially towards a stranger and _monster_? She didn't seem at all fazed by his mask.

"That's a beautiful name. It suits you," she answered.

Erik remained silent.

"I'm Christine," she said.

_Christine...The name of an angel_, Erik thought. When he didn't reply, Christine proceeded.

"Could you please teach me the song, Erik?"

He found his voice and cleared his throat.

"Repeat after me, okay?"

The child nodded obediently. From the moment Christine opened her mouth, he knew she was destined for greatness. True, her voice was less than acceptable, but there was something in it that most people didn't have. Heart, soul, and potential.

As they sang he coaxed her voice to sing higher, louder, gentler. He gently corrected her and soon she sang the tune like an angel. Just as he knew she could. Tears welled at the corners of his eyes and he impatiently wiped them away.

"Dear child, that was very beautiful," he murmured.

"Thank you," she beamed. Suddenly, her expression faltered. "But, um..."

"Yes? I'm listening," he encouraged.

"What about Papa? He's _very_ sick right now and I was supposed to make him supper! He's too ill to walk, you see, and I must be there to help him eat as well."

"Then why, might I ask, were you in the ocean instead of with your ailing father?" he asked.

"My papa asked me to fetch his coat since he left it there the last time we went out. I went to get it, but it was such a nice day so I took off my shoes so I could play in the sand. Then I saw the tide take away my shoes and I tried to swim after them, but I got caught in the current and I thought I was going to get lost and you came." By now the poor child was quite breathless.

Erik was silent, then, "And did you ever find his coat?"

"No and I'm glad I didn't. His coat smells like rotten herring and elderberries," she answered, wrinkling her nose.

Erik laughed and it was not cold with malice. It was a genuine laugh.

"How about I take you home to your dear papa? I'll buy him a new coat myself."

Her eyes widened. "Oh no! I couldn't do that. Isn't that stealing?"

"No, _ma enfante_, not at all," he promised.

She looked relieved. "Okay. Let's go home."

So Erik allowed the little angel to lead him to her house.

The child's home was a very sorry looking shack set on a hill. It might have once been quaint, but had obviously seen better days. There was a little dying flowerbed out front where someone might have thought would give the house a more cheery look when really it just seemed to add to the sorry condition the shelter was in.

Erik coulnd't help but feel sorry for the little angel and her apparently very sick father, but Christine took no notice. She looked upon the dismal shack as though it were a castle.

"Goodbye," she said, waving from the front door.

"Goodbye," he answered. Erik waited until the little moppet had entered her home and then turned to leave. He had reached the bottom of the hill when suddenly...

"PAPA!"

**I will try to post regularly (Mon, Wed, Fri, and Sat). Au revoir! Please do review! They motivate me **


	2. Chapter 2

**I hope you've enjoyed the story so far. Please check out Love Never Dies, my other phic. Oh, and if you like this you might also like The Phantom and the Moppit by Deadtom77. Also, check out KyrieofAccender for some awesome phanfictions such as "Second Chance" and "Love the Stars". On with the story!**

**Lovest Always, Lady Merridell**

**July 2, 1864  
**

**Chapter 2**

**Sometimes it is in the Sky**

The scream ripped through the once peaceful evening air and caused Erik to whip around and race up the hill. Not caring that he was intruding, he threw open the front door to the dingy shack so violently the hinges shrieked and a few snapped.

"Christine!" he cried.

He followed the sound of sobbing into the kitchen where, on the floor apparently unconscious, was a rather frail and haggard old man. Beside him knelt the poor young child sobbing her heart out for her dear father.

Erik realized the old man had passed on. He stood nearby awkwardly, unsure of what to do.

"Child why do you cry? Tell me all angel," he whispered softly, kneeling beside her.

She looked up at him, her beautiful emerald eyes sparkling with tears.

"I-I don't kn-know. H-he collapsed and t-told me h-how much he loved me and f-fainted," she wailed.

Erik stared at the pale corpse. His face was thin and sickly, sandy brown hair thinning no doubt because of illness and the stress of providing for a child when they had so little. He did, however, posses little wrinkles around his eyes as though he smiled often and had a kind face that reminded him very much of Christine's own innocence.

"Are you the Angel of Music? Father promised he'd send you," she asked suddenly.

Angel? Erik felt surprise press down even harder, but remained emotionless. Monster? Yes. Freak? Yes. Horrid, wicked, cursed Devil's child? Most commonly, but angel? Never had he been associated with anything as pure and beautiful as an angel. An Angel of Music.

"Erik? Angel?" she whimpered.

Erik suddenly snapped to attention. This child needed him. She needed to be cared for. Food, water, shelter...could he do that? Actually care for a child? Money was no trouble, but what about this small creature? Erik had no experience whatsoever with children. What if he broke her? She seemed so delicate.

"Yes, Christine?" he breathed.

"Is papa in heaven? With mama? Will he be okay without me?"

"He will cope, I'm sure."

Christine gave a shuddery sigh and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Erik jumped as shockwaves streaked throughout his being. Christine herself seemed surprised and jerked away. They starred at each other for a few moments until the young angel turned back to her father and kissed his forehead.

"I'll miss you, papa," she whispered. "Sleep well with mama."

…

Erik sighed and stoked the fire. He collapsed into his favorite high-backed, red velvet baroque styled chair. He gazed intently into the flames. The house was completely silent, save for the crackling and popping from the fire. Down the narrow hallway sleeping soundly in the guest room was the mourning youth, who had cried herself to sleep.

After a few moments of tense silence at the cottage, Erik had decided it was best to take the child home. However she had refused to leave her father lying dead upon the floor. Erik refused to bring a possibly diseased body into his home, so he compromised and set the corpse onto Christine's old bed, which provided much more comfort than its-his-own.

He blinked. Usually he referred to dead bodies as an 'it', preferring not to say or think 'he'. It made the death much too personal and real. No, it was always best to refer to the corpse as an 'it' with no name. No history. No family. No name. Just another dead body to add to the millions of others he murdered...innocent lives.. all for the entertainment of the Kha-he shook his head. No, he thought, I refuse to return to those days.

With a soft sigh, he stood and stretched. He glanced out the window at the evening stars. Tomorrow he would begin plans for a simple funeral. it was the least he could do for Christine and her deceased father.

**Hope you like! Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Here is chapter 3. I hope you like it. **** please review!**

**Lovest Always, Lady Merridell**

**July 3-6, 1864**

**Chapter 3**

**Sometimes it's with You and Me**

The next few days were dedicated to a very short service which was more of an excuse to get rid of the body than anything, but Erik never expressed his thoughts to Christine.

She remained quiet and shyly accepted any comforting words the mourners offered, not that there were many. Most were there just to see off the famous violinist Daaé, as Erik soon came to know him. Others pitied the poor girl and the kind man who played his violin at fairs while his daughter sang.

Throughout the service, Erik remained close to Christine. He ignored the uneasy glances at his mask and rested his hands upon the young girl's shoulders. The minute it was over he steered his charge away, determined to put as much distance between himself and the mourners as he could.

There had been the question of where the child would stay that first night before the funeral. It should not have been a question since it was almost a silent agreement that Christine would stay with Erik…for the time being. He had prepared a guest room for her and she had loved it. It was a simple Louis-Philipe style with a large window with a view of the ocean and a pale yellow theme.

However there was really no need for it the first night spent together. The child had run into his room weeping because of some horrid nightmare that plagued her dreams. She had eventually fallen asleep in his bed as he comforted her, albeit nervously.

The tired couple entered the quaint Swedish cottage, hidden by various shrubs and low-hanging tree branches.

Erik set about making dinner for the two. Christine proved to be extremely helpful and she would often rush about setting the table, helping him cook, and even corrected his cooking!

Erik sat across from her at a rather small, but handsome, oak dining table. She looked very small and insignificant in the large high-backed dining chairs. He waited for Christine to begin eating, but she only sat and watched him with wide expectant eyes. It was then he realized she was waiting for _him _to take the first bite.

_No, I refuse_, he thought. Erik, despite his rather explosive temper and tendencies towards violence, strived to be a gentleman.

He gestured for her to begin, but she shook her head and smiled. "No, you go ahead," she offered.

It was plain to see she was stubborn. If one of them didn't start, they would sit there with empty stomachs. So, despite his better nature, Erik took the first bite.

Flavorful, wonderful, and savory. Erik had once thought that his _pot au feu_ was pretty decent. Now it only seemed to pale in comparison to the one Christine had cooked. She'd insisted on making the main course and he was greatly impressed.

It was a humble and inexpensive dish, the main ingredients included vegetables and beef, but now it seemed much better than just stew.

"Is it good?" asked Christine tentatively.

"Christine, dear child, it is divine," he murmured.

She ducked her head, blushing. "_Tack_," she whispered.

"_Varsågod_," he replied, throwing his voice so it sounded like a whisper in her ear. Her eyes widened in surprise, causing Erik to chuckle.

Once the stew had vanished, Erik gathered up the dishes and brought back two chocolate eclairs, much to Christine's delight.

As he ate he watched her, careful not to be caught staring. Her head kept nodding forward and her eyes drooped dangerously. He watched with growing interest as she battled with sleep.

Suddenly she slipped from the chair, her battle obviously lost. Erik leapt up from his seat and managed to catch her before she hit the ground. He shifted her in his arms and held her gently.

He carried her to her room and gently set her down in the guest bed, covering her with the satiny sheets. The moonlight filtered through an open window and turned her skin pale. He watched her for a moment, then closed the door softly.

_Sleep well, ma ange._


	4. Chapter 4

**Here is chapter 4. Enjoy and please do review. It inspires and makes me want to continue updating. **

**Lovest Always, Lady Merridell**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera or "The Call" by Celtic Woman.**

**July 7****, 1864**

**Chapter 4**

**Sometimes it's a Cry**

Christine beamed at all the swirling gowns around her. There were flashes of mauve and puce. There were masks of greens and blacks along with vibrant grinning yellows. She couldn't recognize anyone, but they smiled at her as though they did.

She felt as though she was looking for someone, but whom?

Christine pushed through the crowd of both fools and kings alike. Suddenly the faces became more sinister, the faces twisting into grotesque beasts. Then she saw something familiar. A pair of golden eyes glanced at her.

"Erik!" she cried. He turned and disappeared into the colorful inhuman race.

"Wait!" she wailed. "Don't go!"

Christine hurried through the bustling masquerade. Finally she caught up to him, but before she could call for him to turn around the masked fiends grabbed her.

She screamed and fought against them, but still they grabbed at her, pulling her into their midst.

"Erik! Help me!" she screamed.

The cloaked figure ignored her desperate pleas and continued walking away.

"Erik! _Please_, Erik! ERIK!"

"Christine, _ma ange_, wake up," said a voice that seemed to call from somewhere far away. She continued to struggle against the strong arms of a leering satyr that held her tight.

"NO! Let me go!" she sobbed. Suddenly Christine opened her eyes and looked up into a concerned pair of golden orbs. She flung her arms around him, tears flowing shamelessly from her own emerald eyes.

Erik patiently waited for her sobs to subside, which she was grateful for.

"Now, _ange_, tell me what is troubling you," he murmured.

"It was only a nightmare," she sniffed. He watched her, concerned, but didn't push the subject. She felt grateful.

"In that case, how about some breakfast?"

Christine nodded gratefully and Erik led her to the dining room. He pulled out her seat for her. She sat and watched as he left into the kitchen and returned with some croissants and fruit. They ate in companionable silence, as they usually did.

Erik cleared away the dishes and Christine quickly rose to help him. She got decided to clean the dishes for him. It was the least she could do for him, right?

So she set to work. Erik, who had originally planned to do the dishes, was rather surprised when he walked in from the dining room.

"Dear child, what are you doing?" he asked.

"Cleaning the dishes," she answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"You don't have to do that, Christine. You are my guest," he said.

"It's okay, I wanted to do it," she replied.

So Christine had her way and Erik brooded about it for an hour. She soon learned that he did this often.

Having finished the dishes, Christine sighed and decided to explore a little bit. She wandered around the garden in the back and plucked a few weeds. That's when she heard a soft chirping behind her.

Christine set aside the cluster of weeds and rushed over to the brambles and found a tiny raven, staring up at her with large, fearful black eyes.

...

Erik dipped the quill into the red ink and scratched away at the yellowed parchment.

_Dear Mme Giry, _

_I am writing to inform you that I will, indeed, be returning to the Paris Opera. Please notify Charles. You will find a list of items I wish to be purchased and delivered a day before my arrival enclosed with this note. Please inform the managers of my return and ask that they continue to keep Box Five empty for my use. I will expect my salary of 20,000 francs at the end of the month. _

_Erik_

He read it over, satisfied, then sealed it and set it aside. Although he liked Sweden there was no more for him here. He had plans. Plans for Christine. No longer would the likes of la Carlotta butcher the good name of opera.

Visions of Christine enchanting the aristocratic Parisians with her angelic voice danced in his head. It would be she, not the toad, that would be the opera's diva. The new prima donna!

At that exact moment, the center of his thoughts rushed in.

"Erik! Look what I found! I think it's hurt," she panted.

Erik raised an eyebrow in amusement and peered at the little black bird in her hands. It was rather thin and looked very fragile. It held out its left wing a bit as though it hurt to tuck it in.

"Oh that's too bad," he tutted.

"Yes," Christine nodded, looking rather serious. "We must help him. Oh, look Erik. He's hurting."

"Indeed. Well, perhaps I have an old bird cage for it."

Erik personally thought the whole thing was ridiculous, but he decided if it would make his angel happy it was worth it. So he searched the little shed in the back. There were leftover iron something's and strips of leather. The original owner had been a blacksmith and most of his scrap metal and failed projects were left behind. Erik made a mental note to clean out the place.

Eventually he found a slightly dented, but decent birdcage. Christine was delighted and immediately scrubbed it to perfection. She added in a little cup of water and breadcrumbs.

He shook his head in amazement as she gently coddled and talked to the ailing chick before placing it into the cage. _My angel is so compassionate_, he thought proudly. _She is an Angel of Mercy._

...

For days Christine would spend much of her time caring for the bird. She called him Frodo. Erik scoffed at this, but she ignored him.

"He looks like a Frodo," she answered when he raised an eyebrow.

"As the princess wishes, so it shall be," he answered.

Christine always made sure that cursed raven was cared for. So much to the point Erik actually envied the bird.

_No_, he thought suddenly shaking his head, _no. I can't possibly be jealous of a scrawny little raven... could I?_

Whatever the case, he allowed Christine to do what she wished...for the time being. At the moment he was too busy planning their next course of action.They were moving. Moving to Paris.


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm very sorry about not updating sooner. I've been sick, drowned in homework, and had a choir concert. All in a few days. T.T yup, it's the great life. Oh well, enjoy.**

**Lovest Always, Lady Merridell**

**Disclaimer- I don't own Phantom of the Opera. **** Sad day. Or really anything in here. Except the horses. **

**Chapter 5**

**July 19, 1864**

"Christine, _ma enfante_? We need to talk."

"Ok," she smiled. Christine marked her place in _Peter and Wendy_ and sat next to Erik on the couch. She watched him expectantly. He seemed to be struggling with his thoughts a moments, then looked at her and smiled.

"Christine. How would you feel if we...moved to Paris?"

"Paris?"

"Yes, isn't that where your mother is buried? We could visit Perros," he offered.

Christine hesitated. "But, what about Papa?" she asked.

"We can't very well take your papa," he chuckled.

"Couldn't we? We could move him to be with Mama," she answered. How could she leave behind papa?

"I'm sorry, Christine, but that's final. Your father's body will have to remain in Sweden."

Tears welled up in Christine's eyes. "But Erik! Papa and Mama will miss each other," she cried. Erik sighed in exasperation. Really, she was being quite childish. Could she not understand?

"Your mother and father are together right now," he answered, then knelt down, taking one of her tiny hands into his. Christine refused to look him in the eyes.

"Dearest Christine, I promise to take you to visit your Papa every once in a while if you come to Paris willingly," he murmured. A few tears streaked down her cheek, but she finally nodded. Perhaps life in Paris would not be too bad.

"Okay," she said resignedly.

So it was decided. The two would leave in three days to Paris. They would need the next two days to prepare for their move. So they packed and cleaned and packed some more. Christine insisted on doing most of the work, but Erik would hear none of it.

"You are a young lady, _ma ange_, and shall not be treated as a scullery maid," he answered when she protested. Christine had been attempting to carry a rather heavy crate and he stopped her before she could hurt herself.

…

**July 21, 1864**

Finally the day came when they would leave Sweden. Erik tacked up his horses, Apollo and Hades, to the large cart that would get their valuables to the docks.

Meanwhile, Christine was saying her final goodbyes to Frodo. Erik had insisted that the bird was well and was ready to leave. Though this was true, Christine did suspect he didn't get along with the little raven very well. So she relented and agreed to set him free the day they left.

"Come, Christine," Erik called. "If we hurry we can stop by your father's grave before we leave for Paris."

"Coming," she called. Christine got to her feet and dusted off her dress. She waved goodbye to Frodo and rushed over to Erik, who lifted her easily into the birchwood cart.

"Please be careful not to damage it," Erik warned. "This cart does not belong to me."

Christine nodded. Erik smiled at her willingness and cracked the whips. The palomino and jet black stallion set off immediately. They rode in silence. Christine watched the countryside pass by, her eyes roving the hills for the cemetery. Finally they arrived at the church in Sälen.

Erik helped her down from the cart and she meandered around a moment and then sat down in front of her father's grave, tears gathering in her emerald eyes. She knelt down and smiled a bit, trying to put on a brave face.

"_Hej_, Papa. Herr Erik has been caring for me well. He...he's taking me away...we're going to Paris. You used to take me there, remember? To the Opera House? You took me to see ll Muto," she smiled, recalling with tender love the wonderful memory. "I'm going to miss you, Papa," she continued in earnest. "But I know that _Herr_ Erik will take very good care of me and he's going to take me to see M-Mama in Perros."

Christine finally broke down into tears and kissed her fingers and pressed them to the tombstone. She stood up and wandered over to Erik and threw her arms around him. She felt tentative fingers stroke her head and then strong arms lifted her off of the ground and cradle her gently. They set her down on the front seat of the cart and she wiped her eyes as Erik joined her.

For the rest of the journey to Idre silence met the pair. The rhythmic thuds of the horse's hooves on the dirt road and the cheerful titter of birds were the only sounds to fill the silence. Christine laid her head on his shoulder and Erik sat stiffly constantly reminding himself that she was but a child.

Once they reached the docks they were immediately caught up in a large crowd. There were rather unkempt and grubby men selling fish, fishermen returning from the sea weathered and worn, and travellers recovering their land legs.

Erik carefully maneuvered the horses through the bustling throng to _Njord_, a Swedish passenger ship He pointedly ignored the stares and waited patiently while sailors helped him to unpack his load and get the horses below with the other livestock. He made the young Swedish girl promise to stay in the cart. As soon as he was satisfied with her promise to remain where she was he left to help with his luggage. When he was sure that the horses, whom he was rather fond of for their company, were safely in their stall he returned to the rather fine birch cart.

However the scene before him caused his blood to boil dangerously. Some of the younger passengers were teasing her. _His _Christine. The young boys poked her and tugged her hair. She asked them quietly to stop then her voice raised in volume.

"Stop it! _Stop_!" she cried. Erik store forward and grabbed the blonde hair of a boy who seemed to be the main troublemaker of the gaggle. The boys all stopped and stared. He forced the child's head up and stared deep into the hiss hazel eyes.

The boy had the look of a child who was very much spoiled and lapped up every second of it. He looked charming and pleasant in every way. Erik hated him with every passing second. His loathing was fueled by a glint of defiance in the hazel eyes despite the intense flames scorching in Erik's. Somehow an unspoken agreement formed between the two. They would meet again and when that day came one would most certainly die. Gold eyes raged with fire and the hazel met the challenge unfalteringly.

The tense and silent exchange was interrupted by a rather plump and very breathless nurse. "_Juene Maître, vous coquin. Vous ne devez pas errer outré de_," she scolded. Her mouse-brown hair was slightly unkempt and her watery blue-gray eyes glared at her charge disapprovingly.

Erik quickly released the boy and straightened. The nursemaid shooed the young Master's companions away and she took the young nobleman by the wrist. She apologized to Erik in rapid French.

Forgive the young viscount, she told him, for he was very excited by the idea of exploring Sweden. It had been about three years since his last visit and he seemed very excited to see a young mademoiselle he had met once.

Erik nodded and answered smoothly. He understood the lady's excitement. Sweden held many wonders and much excitement and he hoped that the young Master enjoyed his time here.

It wasn't until several minutes that the lady seemed to notice that there was something different about this man. It was not the smooth and musical lilt in his voice, his calm demeanor, or his obvious French descent. Not the erectness with which he held himself or the aura of power that surrounded him and commanded respect. No, it was his face. He wore a white porcelain mask which was a stark contrast to his black cloak and fedora.

Her eyes widened a bit and she instinctively pulled her young charge closer. Erik sighed and turned away, pretending to busy himself with the cart. As soon as the two left he took Christine's little hand and dragged her away, leaving the cart to the hands of a worker boy and his old worn mule who he paid to return it.

He lead her to the first class level and unlocked the door to his cabin, then handed Christine the key to hers. "Your room is the door to the left," he said briefly indicating the door next to his. The minute Christine was in her cabin with her luggage Erik retired to his cabin and sunk onto the bed.

He did not recall falling asleep until he was woken by a tentative knocking on the door. Once opened it revealed a rather nervous Christine. However it didn't alter his annoyance at being awoken from a thankfully dreamless slumber.

"What?" he snapped groggily. Christine looked rather hurt at his tone and he instantly softened. "Are you okay?"

"Well, I am...a bit...hungry," she murmured, staring at her shoes.

Hungry? What time was it?

"Didn't you just eat?" he asked, confused.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm being ungrateful." She turned to leave.

"No, wait. I'm sorry Christine. I didn't know what time it was!-"_lunch already?!"_ -Come to think of it, I'm famished. Let's go eat," he said. Erik reach out his hand and Christine took it hesitantly. The two walked to the dining hall hand in hand.


End file.
